Sunday, 11 November 2012

Poppies

A red blossom on my gray lapel.  Men don't normally wear flowers.

A puff of moisture as I exhale.  Gone in the crisp November air.


A boy in front of me plays with a transformer.  It's hard to remember what you don't yet understand.

A man behind on his cell phone.  It's easy to forget what you've known for so long.


A soldier in shiny boots.  Being motionless is less painful with fifty men to your left.

A soldier with bare hands.  It's less cold with fifty men to your right.


An old man with a walker.  He isn't in anyones way today.

A veteran in a faded uniform.  It's hard to stand but he does it anyway.


It's harder with so few to his right.  So few to his left.

Harder than last year.


A cannon thumps in the silence.  I can feel the shockwave in my chest.

A cannon thumps in the silence.  A heartbeat alongside my own.


I remember someone lost.  It's hard not to cry now.

A tear streams cold down my cheek.  I cry anyway.


I'm glad I did.







d.

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